


Almost

by Meggnog



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Marius and Musichetta are precious babies, Multi, One Shot, Survivor Guilt, Takes place after the rebellion, There's no real plot here just tears and pain, anyway, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meggnog/pseuds/Meggnog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone assumed Marius was the only one left after the events that took place at the barricade on 6th June, 1832. </p><p>But he did not mourn alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is a mixture of stuff from the brick (which I haven't acc read I'm sorry), stuff from the musical and my own personal headcannons. So yeah. It strays from cannon a little but it's just a little one shot that I hope you guys like!

They're dead. 

They can't be. 

But they are. All of them. 

It was never supposed to end this way. Surely the righteous should be the ones to triumph? Is it not the way that those fighting for Liberty, equality and brotherhood should succeed in their cause? 

Apparently not. 

Marius was not entirely sure what his intentions behind returning to the café were. It was certainly not to say a final goodbye to his friends - there would be the funerals for that. 

Perhaps then, it was to say a last farewell to the cause. The ideals they fought for which now seemed to echo off the hollow walls, as broken as the glass in the window panes, and not nearly so easily repaired. 

Renovations to the cafe were due to start the following week, and it was thought the Musain would be back in business within the month. Even now, people were clearing up broken glass and bullets downstairs as Marius stood in the Amis' old meeting room. The cafe was by no means empty in the literal sense, as people hurried about, anxious to erase all memory of the barricade and the horrors that befell the city that night. But literal was not the sense that mattered to Marius. For him, the Musain would never be anything but empty again. 

No life that ever returned to this place would compare to Courfyerac's laugh, Combeferre's wisdom or Enjolras' passionate speeches which seemed to light the very air they filled ablaze. 

For Marius, the Musain fell the night the barricade did. No amount of repaired floors or fresh glass in windows would ever change that. 

He made his way over to a table in the corner of the room, one he knew had been favoured by Joly and Bossuet. As he stood by it, he could almost see their smiles and hear their laughter, or their yells of indignation at the corrupt world they were fighting to change. 

Almost. 

The next table along Marius remembered being that of Jehan and Grantaire more often than not. The two men had been drawn to each other, the artist and the poet, and their table was one of philosophical debates as much as political ones. On this table there also stood a single bottle, forgotten during the battle. Marius lifted up and saw the familiar oil paint stains around the neck and the faint smell of tobacco as well as cheap wine. 

Undoubtably Grantaire's. 

Marius had always had a strange fondness for the drunk which had, much to the bemusement of the other amis, been returned with as much enthusiasm as it was given with. Unbeknownst to their friends, the two men were more similar than met the eye. They both believed in the cause with all their hearts, and yet pretended not to. Marius supposed that it was because they were both afraid of the inevitable - the failure of the rebellion - and did not wish to be seen to believe in something which was damned from the start. So they built up facades to hide their passion - Grantaire that of a cynic, and Marius that of a bonapartist. 

It broke Marius' heart to think that Enjolras may well have died never knowing of their true feelings towards the cause. 

He felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He would be eternally grateful to Valjean for saving his life, but he could not help think he had been taken away from his fate. Despite his joy of knowing he was able to spend the rest of his days with Cosette, he still felt he should have died here, on the barricade. 

Although, in a way, he supposed, he did. 

It was sometime before Marius was aroused from his trance. He sat, motionless and staring at one of the café's crumbling walls for many minutes, which very soon drifted into hours. How many, he was not certain, only that Cosette was sure to be worrying about him by now. 

For the first time since knowing her, he found himself not caring what she would think. 

Eventually, however, the young man was disturbed by the sound of footsteps at the top of the stairs. At first, he was angry. The people working downstairs were under strict instructions from the proprietor of the Musain not to disturb Marius as he mourned. However, when he turned to see the source of the sound, he was greeted with an unexpected yet not unwanted or unfamiliar face. 

"Musichetta..." He said, in a voice barely more than as whisper, as he struggled to stand against his injuries so that he might greet her properly. 

"Marius." She smiled, before raising a hand lightly. "Please. Do not put yourself in discomfort on my behalf." 

"On the contrary." He countered, returning her smile. "I do not believe such a thing as discomfort exists when one is in your presence."

Trust Marius, the girl thought, to continue in his vain attempts to be charming even at such a time as this. 

"Please. Sit." Marius offered, as if welcoming a guest into his home. It made sense, Musichetta thought. The café was probably the place he had felt the most at home in his life. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat as Musichetta pulled up a chair. 

"How are you, Mademoiselle? That is to say, has...how is the grief treating you?" Marius asked hesitantly. 

"Would you rather I have you the truth, or the polite answer to give while in decent company?" She replied with a mirthless laugh. 

"I was already taught honesty was far more polite than not, no matter what the company." 

Musichetta smiled weakly. 

"Very well. Then I must tell you: It is hell. Every morning I awake, expecting to be able to go to Joly and Bossuet's rooms and spend the day in their company, only to be taunted with the cruel reminder that I cannot." She paused to compose herself. "There simply is no word for it but hell itself. Everyday I am tormented by the knowledge that I was upon that barricade, I could've died alongside them, and damn it all, I should've!" Marius attempted to interrupt, but this only made her more determined as she continued to speak, her voice raising gradually. 

"Instead, I left, like a coward, and returned hours later when the only use I could serve was to line up the bodies of the two men I loved side by side and clean their blood from the streets! Where is the dignity in that? Moreover, where is the godliness in that? Monsieur Marius, you know I have always been a religious woman, but if such a God exists who allows horrors to happen to good men as they did that night, then that God can be damned to hell for all I care!" And now the strong woman was sobbing, quite out of character for her, and tears trickled down her cheeks as she struggled to steady her breathing. Marius wrapped an arm around her in an attempt to comfort her. 

"But, Mademoiselle, you were within your rights to leave. Women and fathers of children were asked to leave the barricade. You did what was asked of you." At this, the girl pulled away, growing more frustrated. 

"Yes, and by the same statement Joly and Bossuet were also permitted to leave!" Marius looked at her, astounded. Musichetta simply placed her hands on her stomach. 

"It is a girl, or so I believe. And I do not have a tendency to be wrong about such things. I have no way of knowing which of the boys she belongs to but-" She took a deep breath. "It does not matter. They both would have been fathers. And now they never can be." She spoke with the bitterness of a woman way beyond her years. 

"Oh, Musichetta-" Marius began, at a loss for words. "I am so sorry." 

"There is no need to be." She said, wiping her eyes. "It cannot be helped."

Marius hesitated, and then spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. 

"You know that you will...you will aways have me, do you not? I understand that is of little comfort, but...I shall offer you support in any way I can. In many ways, I feel only you and I can understand each other at this time." 

Musichetta smiled. 

"Yes. I believe you are right." She leaned against his shoulder. "I was thinking that if-" She paused. "If, I am correct, and it is a indeed a girl, then I shall name her Eponine."

Marius looked at his friend and smiled, although tears were filling his eyes. 

"I think she would have liked that." He said weakly, gently nudging her head off his shoulder. "And, if it would be okay with you, I would like us to remain friends."

"Yes." She said, taking his hand gently into her own. "I should like that."

And for a second, everything seemed to almost go back to normal. 

Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! Please leave a comment ^_^


End file.
